The Creeper
by BerserkerHellHound
Summary: Sam is attacked in the motel and Dean tries to save him, only for John to lay the blame solely on him. Wee!Chester! One-Shot


The Creeper

Named for the Molly Hatchet song.  
Thanks to AlElizabeth for being a beta.  
I don't own it.

Sam lay curled into a small ball on the motel room bed, the thin blanket pulled up past his head. It had been two years since he had learned about monsters and had started to learn how to fight them. Sam curled further into his protective ball. It wasn't that he was afraid, per se, he wasn't as afraid as most normal kids his age would be if they discovered monsters existed, but ever since coming to the small town of Indian Hill, he hadn't been able to sleep without nightmares.

A soft sound made Sam jump but he calmed when he realized it was only Dean snoring. Typically, the boys would share beds, but John was out on a hunt in Albuquerque, so Dean had moved to the spare bed. An independent child, Sam would have normally relished the personal space but now, he would do anything to have his brother close. Sam felt his eyes slipping closed when he heard a soft thump from under his bed and startled awake again, his heart pounding. "Dean," Sam hissed softly at his brother, too softly apparently, since the other boy continued to snore.

The bed Sam was lying in shook slightly, as though someone had bumped into the corner.

"Dean," Sam whispered a little louder this time, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Again, the bed shook and Sam felt something tug on his blanket.

Sam could feel tears pricking his eyes. Dean had promised he was always safe and now something was going to get him.

"Dean!" Sam shrieked when he felt a cold, clammy hand wrap around his ankle and give a sharp tug, pulling him halfway off the bed. Sam grappled desperately for a hand – hold, but his fingers only caught sheets and pillows.

"Sammy!" The young boy heard just as the hand gave another tug and pulled him. The boy landed hard on his back, all the air gushing out of his lungs.

Sam looked around frantically for his brother, whose face appeared right over him and grabbed his hands, pulling back against whatever was slowly dragging him under the bed.

Now tears were pouring from Sam's face. He could feel the creature tighten its grip around his ankle and when he kicked out with his free foot he could feel more corpse cold, wet skin.

Dean pulled with all he was worth, dragging his little brother closer to himself, only his ankles still under the bed. He wanted more than anything to shoot whatever was holding his brother right in the head, but the gun was perched on the nightstand and to get to it, he would have to let go.

It felt like this tug – of – war would continue forever, since Dean was never going to let go of Sam, when the door to the motel burst open. Dean was so surprised he felt his grip on Sam's sweat slicked hands slip a little and the boy was pulled further under the bed.

John Winchester lunged across the room towards his sons and blindly pointed a shotgun under the bed, firing into the darkness. Whatever was there, screamed, loud and long, but didn't relinquish its hold on the young boy.

"Let him go, you son of a bitch!" John shouted and fired his shotgun again.

Suddenly, the creature released Sam and the two boys fell back against Dean's bed. It took less than a second for the two to clamber onto the dubious safety of the bed.

Dean pulled Sam into a tight, protective hug, hiding the shaggy haired head from view. John, meanwhile, flung the mattress off the bed and checked that the creature was, in fact, gone. The only trace of the creature having been there was several deep scratches in the carpet and a couple flecks of blue blood.

Finally, John turned back to the boys, "What happened?"

Dean looked at his father, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I told you to always keep your gun with you!" John yelled.

"I'm… I'm sorry, sir," Dean whispered.

"Sam could have died! And it would have been all your fault!" John continued his tirade.

Dean tightened his grip on his brother, terrified at the notion of ever losing him.

"Dad? What was that?" Sam whispered from his brother's embrace.

John looked surprised at his youngest son, his face softening. "It's what I was chasing after in Albuquerque, the Boogey Man. I lost it after it found out I had a family," John explained before returning his glare to his oldest son. "Your duties have increased, Dean, maybe that'll teach you to be so useless."

John left the boys, returning to the Impala, knowing the creature wasn't dead but for the moment, wounded, and so would be easier to kill.

Dean sat on the bed for the rest of the night, holding his young brother, hating himself for almost losing the only bright spot in his life.


End file.
